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<title>The Correct Use of the Blowjob Stool: A Beginner's Guide by Johnlock2708, Strange_johnlock</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539671">The Correct Use of the Blowjob Stool: A Beginner's Guide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock2708/pseuds/Johnlock2708'>Johnlock2708</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock'>Strange_johnlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Humor, Idiots in Love, Important work meeting, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock goes shopping, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:42:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock2708/pseuds/Johnlock2708, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock, who didn’t believe in gifts, had brought one home for John without much explanation and John had to join a meeting before he could ask any important questions." </p><p>Sherlock got a present for John. Which, of course, means trouble</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to our beta reader, the wonderful Kat. </p><p>And to all the lovely people on Twitter who supply us with with naughty pictures and ideas - you know who you are. ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock was on his way back from a crime scene that he’d visited with Lestrade. Unfortunately, the case wasn’t even a five, a six at most, and usually, not even a reason for him to leave the flat. But this time, he owed Lestrade a favor, having escaped the paperwork on the last few cases. He had solved the case quickly and was now more bored than he was before. He walked down the street, scowling as he considered what to do with the rest of the day. </p><p> </p><p>John had stayed at home to prepare for an online meeting that he had later that day with some representatives from St. Barts, something about a new working concept at the surgery. More than boring as far as Sherlock was concerned.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock checked his phone and saw a message. </p><p> </p><p>[10:15]:</p><p>Are you on your way back? Can you bring some milk, please?</p><p> </p><p>Normally Sherlock would have simply ignored such a message, but in order not to endanger his newly established relationship with John, he replied </p><p> </p><p>[10:18]:</p><p>Really, John? Yes, I'll bring milk. SH </p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, he put his phone back in one of his coat pockets and turned towards Tesco. </p><p> </p><p>Once there, he meandered through the aisles in the direction in which he assumed the milk was. On his way, he met different people. A salesman desperately trying to control his addiction to pretzel sticks, a customer considering starting a new diet, and a young guy shuffling wearily toward the cash register. Trying to avoid more people he took the wrong turn and ended up in the non-food department.  </p><p> </p><p>He was about to turn around, scowling, when he saw something that caught his attention. A stool. Not particularly high, but just the right high to sit on and covered with greyish-brown faux fur. It wasn’t the ordinary look of the stool that caught his attention, but the banderole with the name on it: Blow Job Stool.</p><p> </p><p>The milk forgotten, he stepped closer. </p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Put it there.” were the first words Sherlock spoke when he walked into the flat, followed by a nondescript-looking guy in Tesco work clothes. </p><p> </p><p>The guy had put the box where Sherlock wanted it and then shuffled off with a mumbled greeting. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s that, Sherlock?” John asked, walking over to the box and looked at it curiously. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s for you, John. I bought it at Tesco. Unpack it.” Sherlock replied and puffed up with pride. </p><p> </p><p>“You bought something for me? Just because? That’s nice… you’re getting soft.” John winked. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course not, John! I’m definitely <em> not </em>getting soft!” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay okay,” John grinned and started to open the box. </p><p> </p><p>John had unpacked the stool and placed it in the middle of the living room to inspect it. “What… is this, Sherlock?” he asked hesitantly and walked another lap around the new piece of furniture. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s a stool, John! Don’t be stupid.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah… and what exactly did you buy it for?” </p><p> </p><p>“To sit on. Obviously. <em> You </em>have to sit on it, John.” </p><p> </p><p>“Now? You know I’m about to have the meeting I told you about.” </p><p> </p><p>“You have to sit on it during the meeting. It’s important.” </p><p> </p><p>“But… why?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s important, John. It’s just… you have to do it! For me, John.” Sherlock’s voice turned soft</p><p> </p><p>With that announcement, Sherlock stepped close to John and wrapped his arms around him. </p><p> </p><p>John couldn’t resist Sherlock when, by his standards, he kindly asked for something. Especially not since they’d taken such an important step forward in their relationship. </p><p> </p><p>So he exchanged his office chair for the stool and demonstratively sat down. </p><p> </p><p>“Right? - You have to explain to me later why this is so important for you.”  John smirked.  </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Stay there.”</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, if you say so," John smirked again "then let's get it over. - Oh, and Sherlock? No weird behavior, please. This meeting is mandatory and my new boss is on there."  </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock grunted in what sounded vaguely like agreement and sat down on the kitchen table and leaned over his microscope. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>John glanced at the lower right corner of the screen, witnessing as the seven turned into an eight. He felt weirdly reminded of school days when he would sit watching the hand of the clock edge closer to twelve. But maths - or even French - seemed entertaining in retrospect.</p><p> </p><p>This was worse. Two hours, so far, of that monotone voice talking on and on, the man reading off his script without looking up, and John was almost at a Sherlock level of boredom. He caught himself playing with the handle of the desk drawer, knowing of the gun inside. Not that he would shoot at Mrs. Hudson’s poor walls, but his laptop would surely look interesting with a bullet stuck right in the middle.</p><p> </p><p>John shook his head in an attempt to shake off the daydream, focusing back on the lecturer, who made up most of the screen with John himself and his colleagues in smaller windows at the top. He nodded a few times, to seem interested, especially because his new boss was on the call and John tried to make a good impression at least until the guy learned about him missing work for cases, but found himself looking for distraction- anything that wasn’t related to appropriate communication with patients.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes wandered over to Sherlock, or at least the parts of him he could see through the opened kitchen sliding door. The detective seemed busy, not having moved from his microscope for the past hours.</p><p> </p><p>Before the meeting, John had considered going up to his old room for the call, to get some peace and quiet as he bored himself to death - or at least until he felt tired enough to sleep for a hundred years. But the WiFi connection up there was horrid and John had to weigh the risk of having to listen to staccato-styled talking for at least four hours to Sherlock walking in on the call butt-naked.  </p><p> </p><p>John had decided that he was quite safe from the latter, as he was tucked away in the corner behind the desk. Also, Sherlock had not been home when John had set up his workspace, away on a case that had taken him all morning to solve. And apart from his weird behavior when he had returned home, the detective had been very well behaved so far.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a surprise to watch Sherlock barge in, followed by a guy that must have been a member of staff at Tesco. Sherlock had told him to put the medium-sized box down and the guy was gone. </p><p> </p><p>John combed his fingers through the greyish-brown strands of faux fur that had covered their newest piece of furniture, a small, rectangular stool the detective had bought. Sherlock never cared much about things like this. He liked his armchair, but it had already been at the flat when they had moved in. Adding something new to the flat that was not part of an experiment, a book, or indeed dead, rarely happened. What made the doctor smile was that Sherlock seemed to have gotten it not for himself, but John.</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock, who didn’t believe in gifts, had brought one home for John without much explanation- John had to join the meeting before he could ask any of the important questions. Secretly very touched by the gesture, John had sat down on the stool and even though he believed his back would not be happy about him sitting on it for four hours in a row, hadn’t switched it back for a desk chair yet.</p><p> </p><p>“I suggest a ten-minute break. We will meet back up at 1:45.” The lecturer for once looked up from his script, smiling widely and the screen turned black, hiding John’s sigh of relief from the other participants. God, he was thankful the microphones were turned off.</p><p> </p><p>Getting up, John made his way to the kitchen. Walking past Sherlock, he couldn’t resist hiding a kiss in dark curls, taking in the smell of sage and skin he had grown to love so much. Not getting much of a reaction, not that he would have expected one, John went on to put the kettle on, using the time it took to boil the water to use the loo.</p><p> </p><p>Exactly nine minutes later, he found himself sitting on his stool again, re-tea-ed but still unmotivated. The screen came back to life and John braced himself for another two hours of this torture. Sherlock had moved to his armchair by now, eyes closed, obviously thinking and John liked that he could at least look at his gorgeous face, something he could never get enough of, especially now that he knew how those lips felt against his own, how they opened up to his touch, warm and soft, and what John wouldn’t give to just walk over there and press a kiss to that mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Glancing at the screen, he caught his own soppy grin. Lifting his mug, he tried to hide it, wondering if any of his colleagues had noticed - if his boss had. Clearing his throat and taking another sip of tea, John tried to set his focus back on the presentation, only to be reminded a short time later why he had lost it in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>The lecturer might be a great doctor- not that he had heard of the guy before this, but he wasn’t made to hold lectures or speak publicly at all. If anything, he’d be great at reading good night stories to cure insomniacs. Some nights, especially those spent in a London that had not yet introduced him to Sherlock Holmes, he might have wished for such monotonousness.</p><p> </p><p>Now, knowing he had to seem interested a least, it was more akin to torture and John felt he would soon surpass Sherlock-levels of boredom. He clicked through the participants, noticing his colleagues were in a similar state as him, awkwardly sitting around the most presentable corners of their homes. Maybe they should all be glad to not have to do this in person, as it was a bit easier to distract themselves this way.</p><p> </p><p>John reached out to check his phone- no messages. Of course, the only man he regularly texted was in the same flat as him right now, and apparently terribly busy thinking about that case of his. John scrolled back through their recent texts.</p><p> </p><p><em> Still haven’t gotten that milk I asked for </em>, he thought, adjusting his sitting position, switching the phone off again, promising himself that he would not give in to the temptation of Candy Crush just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Glancing over at the armchair, he found it vacant, the man that had been in it moments earlier gone and John felt another sigh forming his throat. He wanted to snuggle up on that sofa, listen to Sherlock breathe as his brilliant mind worked overtime and just doze off, or take a cab to a crime scene to look at a body while Sherlock spat deductions, or run after a jewelry thief along a busy Oxford Street. Anything but this.</p><p> </p><p>A dull thud caught his attention and John looked around to figure out where it was coming from when something brushed his calve. He was quite sure they had not gotten a cat – and a quick look confirmed that instead, Sherlock was under the desk on all fours.</p><p> </p><p><em> Probably dropped something </em>, John thought, adjusting his sitting position.</p><p> </p><p>“With this, I can conclude my part of the presentation.” The boring voice said, and John felt relief flood through his body. “We now can enter the Q&amp;A part of today’s meeting. If you have any questions or need clarification, I’m happy to answer them. I just need a show of hands and I’ll call your name. Please turn your microphone on before you speak.”</p><p> </p><p>He’d hoped too soon. John felt his shoulders drop. Knowing Jason, one of the new GPs needed to show off constantly, he already knew the guy would use that space as a stage. Jason proved him right, his hand up before the lecturer had even finished talking and now things were going from bad to worse within seconds.</p><p>”First off, I wanted to thank you for this important input today. I have a question concerning….”</p><p> </p><p>The second touch to his calf seemed more intentional and John wondered what he was still doing on the floor. Another brush against the fabric of his jeans, closer to his knee now and John instinctively let his legs drop open a bit more. That seemed to be just what Sherlock wanted, as he moved forward John, large hands sprawling over the doctor’s thighs, warm and heavy.</p><p> </p><p>“Tease,” John whispered, extremely exciting pictures flooding his mind. Sherlock had told him about his lacking imagination once, but this he could very well fantasize about. He took another sip of tea to cool himself down, almost spitting it across the table when he heard the sound of his zipper. Was that mad man going to…?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, Kat, for beta reading </p><p>And to Johnlock2708 for co-writing this with me - it was so much fun and I hope we can do this again soon. You have become a friend in such a short time and I enjoy our zoom meetings tremendously. </p><p>Vany</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A shiver ran down John’s spine as he realized what was going to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the preceding few weeks, John had gotten to know the things those hands and that mouth could do, and the thought of any of this happening in public is sending a cocktail of arousal and embarrassment through his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finding the video of himself on the screen, John found himself to be blushing slightly, even though nothing had happened yet. He knew he should stop Sherlock, should push him off and tell him to be patient. Those were his colleagues, GPs, and nurses he worked with every day, people he had to look in the eyes tomorrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t. Instead, he let Sherlock pull his button open and push the fabric away, long fingers too close and not close enough to where John wanted them to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look…</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John reached down with his hand instead, finding curls to bury his fingers in, tugging.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You are very naughty’, he wanted to say. ‘So very naughty and mad and brilliant and you shouldn’t do this, but I really want you to.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he knew Sherlock understood, and he could imagine that sly little smile on his lips as he cupped John through his pants, starting to stroke him slowly. John’s body reacted readily, not at all concerned with who might notice, and John had to bite his lip not to moan out loud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not for the first time in his life - but maybe now more than usual - John regretted his very expressive face, and as Sherlock continued stroking him - far beyond any teasing now - John fixed himself on the screen. Looking at anyone else would have felt awkward, but he also felt scared of giving anything away, of blasting his growing arousal across the video chat room with a very obvious facial expression. One that said ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>my boyfriend is tossing me off under the desk right now and god, I love it’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Justin was still talking, John realized, but there was another voice now, and it took John embarrassingly long to realize it didn’t come from the pc loudspeaker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit back a bit for me, John.” Sherlock rasped, voice laced with dark honey, and John’s cock throbbed with a new wave of lust. Yes, he was a doctor, a surgeon, but he was a soldier too, and John found himself scooting back on his stool immediately, tucking his feet behind the chair legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Making room,</span> <span>room that Sherlock filled by shifting even closer, a mob of curls now in the line of sight, and John watched his cock spring free as Sherlock pushed his pants down. God, he was so hard, and the fact that he was in a public setting seemed to add to his arousal instead of taking away. The chance that anyone might have noticed, might have seen behind his mask of professional neutrality, see the blush in his cheeks, the way the lines on his face twitched with every new touch.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deer in the headlights.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Spotlight center stage.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is an interesting set of questions, Dr. Johnson. Let me start by saying…” John’s eyes skimmed over to Dr. Monotone – he was intentionally ignoring that the guy’s name was Decker now - for a moment, before settling on his own appearance again. He was all blue jumper, chequered button-down, and freshly cut hair and he hoped this was unassuming enough to hide what was happening between his legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock wrapped long fingers around John’s shaft, and the obscene sound of skin against skin filled the room, and he bit back a moan. In only a few weeks of their developing relationship, Sherlock had learned exactly how John liked to be touched, that he enjoyed firm but slow strokes, combined with occasional drags of a thumb against his sensitive head and a loose grip around his balls. Pale eyes had taken in every reaction as clever hands had experimented, changed pace and pressure, and other variables until that brilliant brain had understood what it meant to bring John Watson over the edge. Sherlock touched with purpose, with enthusiasm, and even though John had never complained about sloppy hand jobs in his life, what Sherlock could do with his fingers was on a level of its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Licking his lip - and thank god that was a habit he often indulged it - John reached for his pen, tapping it against the desk. He hadn’t earned the nickname of Three Continents Watson for sitting back and enjoying the ride, was used to reciprocate touch, to whisper encouragements, and somehow that energy needed an outlet now.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His coronal ridge brushed against a full, lower lip. “Fuck.” John blurted out, unable to stop himself, and he needed to close his eyes for a moment. He was not given time to recover before the head of his cock was sucked into the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still muted, thank god.” He confirmed with a glance, stopping his hand from reaching down to comb fingers into dark curls, instead of crossing his arms demonstratively, to make sure his hands were both visible, at the same time making sure he blocked all view of his belly and lap. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jumper, digging so hard he could feel them press into his skin, a reminder that he had to keep his composure as Sherlock brushed kisses along with his glance, teasing, driving him insane with too much of not quite enough.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soldier. Army Captain.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hold it together, Watson.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And for a while he did, not pushing his hips up as he wanted, not cupping that gorgeous face in his hand to guide him, knowing he was at the mercy of Sherlock Holmes, who had now started to bob his head, enveloping him into and releasing him from his mouth, clever tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft, the contrast of that warmth and the cool air making him squirm in his seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John was wet with saliva, throbbing, producing first droplets of precum in an embarrassingly short time and he wanted this to be over and continue forever at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock popped off for a moment, dragging his lips against the side, John’s crown nudging against a sharp cheekbone. Reaching for his mug, John took a sip of his tea as Sherlock sucked first one, then the other testicle into his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, you’ll be the end of me,” John whispered against the rim of his mug, a low chuckle the only merciless answer, and the doctor took another sip of his drink just to keep up the illusion. By the time he placed it back on the table, Sherlock had wrapped his thumb and pointer finger around the base of John’s dick, feeding it to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, that must have been a sight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t dare look down, biting his lip as Sherlock continued to suck him into his mouth, creating a quickening rhythm, John breathing hard by now, clutching his elbows to have something to hold onto.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A gagging sound as his partner lodged the head of his dick in his throat, taking him deep and it was the fault of this stupid meeting alone that he couldn’t get up and fuck that gorgeous face. God, how much he needed it, needed to come, his entire body felt on fire, sparks of lust having set aflame to every inch of skin, boiling his insides. John craved relief like a dying man craved one last breath and thankfully, Sherlock seemed to have noticed, as his movements grew quicker, still taking him deep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doctor Watson.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of his name made John freeze. The voices from the PC turned into background noise long ago and hearing himself be addressed brought the reality back that he still was on a video call. Now, they had noticed. They had realized what he was doing, how inappropriate he was being in a work meeting and if he was lucky, he would only get fired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doctor Watson, your screen froze. Can you still hear us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Shit. Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fumbled at the keyboard, the other hand dropping to his lap to reach into Sherlock’s hair, a silent beg to keep still for just a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unmuted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” John cleared his throat. “Yes, I can still hear you.” Was all he could get out. The orgasm was so close he could almost taste it. Sherlock - and the doctor owed him big time for this- didn’t move, didn’t even make a sound around John’s cock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mute.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Pull back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Long fingers around his shaft.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crown resting against that full lower lip.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind went blank for a moment, before exploding into colors and John had to close his eyes for a moment, only to open them </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>watch himself on the screen as he came, saw his lines form around his mouth and eyes, lip bitten almost bloody in the attempt to keep quiet. His eyes were dazed with lust, and somewhere back in his mind, John felt grateful for the bad camera quality. Mostly, he didn’t care, the powerful orgasm filling his body with dopamine and some base, male instinct felt so very proud to have painted Sherlock lips and chin with come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body was vibrating still when Sherlock pulled back and crawled out from under the desk, disappearing in the direction of the bathroom, slowly calming into a satisfying state of calm as the meeting was ended by the host and when the screen turned dark, John leaned back, almost falling backward off the stool as he did.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After several minutes, in which John was still sitting on the stool, slightly drowsy but satisfied, he heard the shower running. With slow movements, he got up and padded towards the bathroom to keep Sherlock company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When John got to the bathroom, he leaned against the locked door, happy about the moment of support, his legs still a bit shaky. From there he could see Sherlock’s silhouette through the partition of the shower, tall, slim, and incredibly sexy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Licking his lips unconsciously, he pushed away from the door and walked over to the shower, undressing on his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock had his back to John as he got into the shower but, of course, he had long noticed that he was there. Now he leaned trustingly against him as John wrapped his arms around his detective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned his face between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and placed several gentle kisses there. The water ran slowly and warmly over both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello love,” John sighed contentedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, John,” Sherlock answered and gripped the arms over his flat belly. Slowly he let his fingers glide over John’s arms and then turned to wrap his arms around John as well. With a mischievous grin, he leaned down and pulled John into a slow kiss. Kissing John was one of Sherlock’s new favorite activities. Anything to do with John and their new relationship was one of Sherlock’s favorites but especially kisses. There were so many variations on it that he hadn’t managed to catalog them all yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like an eternity, John broke the kiss and looked up to Sherlock, his eyes full of warmth and love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his thumb over one of Sherlock’s cheekbones and asked “How did I deserve this brilliant blowjob, hm?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sat on the stool, John.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did, but what does that have to do with the blowjob?” John raised his eyebrows questioningly and slightly confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything has to do with it, John. The stool is the reason you got one!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now John was really confused and his face twitched as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide what exactly. He took a slow breath to begin a sentence when Sherlock interrupted him “I’ll show you!” he exclaimed enthusiastically and started pulling John out of the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woow, slowly Sherlock, we don’t want to break anything on our way there!” John laughed and climbed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John barely had the opportunity to wrap a towel around himself when Sherlock pulled him further toward the living room where the stool was still standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hadn’t bothered with a towel and stood, still dripping slightly, in front of his Belstaff, which he had thrown over the back of John’s chair earlier and fumbled in one of the pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Here it is!” he shouted, triumphantly holding up a folded piece of banderole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this, Sherlock?” John smiled and held out his hand questioningly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is your answer, John! That’s why you got the blowjob. You sat on a blowjob stool!” Sherlock declared solemnly, unfolded the banderole, and stood tall, proud - and naked - in front of John and expected to be praised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A blow...what - ?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A blowjob stool! Catch up, John. It’s the name on the banderole.” Sherlock waved the said piece of paper in front of John’s face, his gaze a bit uncertain now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Sherlock,” John laughed openly now “You’re a real genius but sometimes I don’t know what you’re thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh, dear,” John reassured Sherlock before he could get too upset “You bought the stool because of the name and used it the way you wanted.” One hand was now on Sherlock’s chest, “But I think there’s another way to use it… let me show you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With these words, John took the banderole from Sherlock’s hand and let it fall on the floor carelessly. Taking a few steps back he pulled Sherlock with him, a cheeky expectant smile on this face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John pulled the stool away from the table and sat down. “Come here, love,” he whispered and reached out to Sherlock, who stepped closer reluctantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was now directly in front of John, his cock at the perfect height. John once again admired Sherlock’s beauty and let his eyes wander over his body. Then he grabbed Sherlock by the hips and began to distribute soft kisses all over the prominent pelvic bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shiver ran through Sherlock’s body and his cock straightened in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now I’ll show you how I felt earlier -” John nibbled his way over the shaft to the glans and swirled his tongue around it, swallowing Sherlock with a smooth motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s mouth formed a perfect O as he closed his eyes… </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Did you know about the stool before this fic?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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